


500 Words: London

by Fire_Sign



Series: 500 Words [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5169170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack arrives in London.</p><p>(Or, the braces porn fic that is light on both braces and porn. And is now longer.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Breaking my general convention of keeping these fills together because it was straddling the line into too long. A direct follow on to the "Mac helps Jack get to London" fills, which ended up (chronologically) with Jack at Phryne's door and her pulling him through by his tie.
> 
> This began as a braces fic, didn't really reach it's full potential.
> 
> NEW NOTES: Decided to stick all the single-continuity ficlets into one and renamed it as a result. Will eventually transfer the early ones here for ease of reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The earliest fills, moved over here for ease of reading.

#### Catalyst Pt. 1

When it came to Phryne Fisher, the first thing you noticed was that she was a catalyst in even the strictest sense of the word. She caused change wherever she went, somehow immune to the forces exerted upon her; the same Phryne, regardless of money or status or the night's charming paramour.

Mac assumed that her Inspector Robinson was another chemical reaction waiting to happen; slower, perhaps, than most, but still waiting. After awhile, Mac began to wonder if she had it the wrong way around; that the seemingly unassuming policeman was the catalyst in her friend's own transformation, subtle but very much there. It dawned on her, far later than it should have, that neither was true. Their partnership was a synthesis reaction, two substances forming something more complex. Too complex, possibly, given the grief it seemed to cause them both. 

It was possible to reverse reactions, through time or other initiating forces, but the components were never the same; the actual yield never quite matched the theoretical yield, both reagents somehow leaving pieces of themselves in the other. As Mac watched Jack Robinson in her morgue, attention firmly on the case but still turning towards the door at the slightest sound as if he expected her to burst through, she cursed her chemistry education.

* * *

####  Bellwether

 

> _The Honourable Miss Phryne arrived at the Duke of Embury's birthday party dressed in a creation from an up-and-coming Parisian fashion house. The fashion bellwether has only recently returned from an extended stay in the Antipodes. Curiously, she was unaccompanied, a rare sight for the flirtatious Miss Fisher._

 Bellwether. She liked that. And she looked absolutely stunning, even in black and white.

Phryne carefully clipped the article and accompanying picture from the newspaper, then scrawled a note in the margins: _Indeed, where was my escort?_ Then she folded it and placed it in an envelope. Debated whether or not to send her other recent foray into the society pages (that bloody spider), but decided against it; she only had the one copy in England, and she was rather attached to it.

She had left Melbourne six weeks earlier, and had been in London for nearly two of them. She had not heard from Jack despite her invitation; telegraphs had been sent to Mac and to Wardlow, telling them of her safe arrival, so he undoubtedly knew where she was. She didn't expect him to actually _come_ , but a message would be nice. Perhaps she was just too impatient; a telegram was far too impersonal for a romantic overture (and if she could stop grinning like a school girl at those words, that would be wonderful), and he couldn't have sent a letter until he knew where she was staying. Still, there was a growing sense of dread. She addressed the envelope and placed it in the pile to be posted that afternoon.

This had to be Jack's step. But it certainly wouldn't hurt if the ram gave the bell a shake now and again.

* * *

#### Predicament

 

Mac strode into City South, barely stopping to acknowledge the poor constable at the desk before entering Jack Robinson's office. The man in question was going over paperwork, but looked up when she closed the door.

"You're off duty?" she confirmed.

He nodded. She retrieved his secret bottle of whiskey and two tumblers, then sprawled into one of the empty chairs before pouring them both a drink.

"Drink."

They both gulped down the shot, and Mac poured them another.

"Did you try and stop her?" Mac asked.

He looked horrified.

"No. You?"

"Yes."

"It went well then?"

There was a ghost of a smile on his face as he said it. She really did like the man.

"Of course."

"Ahh, that must be why she's safe at home in bed."

"Fools rush in where angels fear to tread, Jack."

"And neither go so many places as our demons."

Mac raised her glass in a silent toast of understanding. They sipped their drinks this time, contemplatively. When his was done he placed it carefully on the desk, spread his hands across the smooth wooden surface. He looked exhausted.

"Why are you here, Mac?"

The doctor could never remember him calling her that before; they were not friends as such. Or perhaps they were now. This was the sort of conversation you could only have with a friend.

"What are you going to do?"

The man sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Find some way to go after her, probably."

That was a surprise; she would have thought he understood Phryne more than that. Her friend enjoyed the chase but she didn't like to get caught, not even by those she cared for most.

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Because she asked me too."

Not caught then; met.

"Most of my best and worst adventures started with the very premise," said Mac. "But I've never regretted them."

"I believe Miss Fisher makes it very difficult to regret anything, no matter the cost."

"I don't envy you your predicament," Mac said, rising from the chair. She took a piece of paper from her pocket and laid it on the desk; Phryne's address in London. She gave the inspector a small smile. "But perhaps it's much simpler than it seems from the outside."

 

* * *

 

#### Catalyst Pt. 2

 

He knocked on the door of her London flat, the address passed on to him by Mac in an effort to keep his arrival secret.

She answered the door herself, practically bouncing as she came into view. He was suddenly conscious that he might be interrupting other plans; it wasn't as if he expected he to be pining away in London while he chased her halfway around the world, after all.

"Jack!"

She beamed at him, the full force of her vivacity hitting him at once.

"Good afternoon, Miss Fisher. I believe you--"

She reached up, grabbed his tie, and pulled him through the door.

 


	2. 36. Auspicious

> #### Auspicious
> 
> /ɔˈspɪʃ əs/  
>  _adjective_
> 
> 1\. promising success; propitious; opportune; favorable:  
>  2\. favored by fortune; prosperous; fortunate.

* * *

Phryne was heading to the parlour when a knock came on the door. She swung it open, expecting it to be Ella or Felicity; they had said they'd come by when they could.

"Jack!"

She beamed. He was there, exactly as he always was down to the familiar brown fedora. Weeks of silence and evasive answers from everyone, and now he was there. _Actually_ there. 

"Good afternoon, Miss Fisher. I believe you--"

She reached up, grabbed his tie, and pulled him into the flat.

"Was that the door, Miss?" called her butler from the kitchen.

Phryne pressed her finger against Jack's lip to silence him, tie still firmly grasped in her other hand.

"Just a package from Australia," Phryne called back. "All sorted. I don't think I'll be going out for lunch after all, Mr Cole. If you could make some sandwiches up? Just leave them by the door. I think I'm going to lie down for awhile."

She removed her finger long enough to press a quick kiss against Jack's lips, then led him upstairs still wearing his coat and hat.

Just inside the bedroom door he caught her wrist and pulled her towards him, kissing her thoroughly.

"Hello," she said with a smile when he finally pulled away.

"God, I've missed you," he said hoarsely.

"Finally had the time then?" she teased. "I missed you too."

He removed his hat, casting his eyes around the room for somewhere to rest it. Phryne took it and placed it at a jaunty angle on her own head; his response was the same smile he had on the day at the airfield.

_God, how she loved him. And how very little that worried her._

She reached up to loosen his tie--the same one from the failed dinner date, the Strano case, the airfield; a sentimental attention to detail that she found almost overwhelming--but didn't remove it. It made an excellent lead as she pulled him towards the bed. His coat was shucked off, draped carelessly across the back of a chair; another kiss, a reward for a job well done. Halfway across the room she paused their stumbling steps to unbutton his jacket and vest, leaving them to lay where they fell; he did the same for her blouse.

She twirled when they started again; to push instead of pull him the final few feet. He sat on the bed; looked up at her, adoration and reverence writ large across his face. He was beautiful: the crisp whiteness of his shirt against his tanned skin, his hands gripping the edge of the mattress as if to ground himself, the braces drawing attention to the lines of his body, his hair tousled slightly.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Came on awfully long way if I wasn't."

And he was _teasing_ her.

"I can be a bit of a handful," she laughed in reply.

His hands reached up behind her, cupping her ass as he pulled her closer.

"Fits just right," he said.

He nuzzled beneath the hem of her cami, pressed tender kisses against her stomach. His hair was soft as she gripped it, arching into his chaste ministrations.

"Jaaack," she moaned. He looked up again, eyes dark with passion. She had to tell him now, before it all became lost in a haze of lustful desire."I never do things by halves."

"Good," he said, voice rough with emotions. "Neither do I."

She lowered herself onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Kissed him, the frantic need to have him passing in favour of a languid exploration; she could just kiss him for hours, to learn every trick of his silver tongue. They varied it occasionally: he would break away to trace the shape of her ear with his tongue, she would counter with an experimental scrape of her nails against his back; she would slip her hands beneath his braces and push them off his shoulders, he would remove her cami and knock his hat off in the process; she would move against his thigh, he would mutter words of adoration into her shoulder and against her neck. But they always came back to the simplicity of a slow kiss. It was heavenly.

There was a knock at the door, and Jack froze.

"Lunch," Phryne whispered. "He won't come in; I asked him to leave it outside."

Sure enough they heard the retreating steps of Mr. Cole.

"Now, where were we?" she asked.

She kissed him again, but there was a slight hint of distraction. She pulled away, searching Jack's face for an explanation; no uncertainty or hesitance was to be found, but he wasn't present in the moment.

"You're thinking about the food, aren't you?" she finally asked.

He looked embarrassed.

"The breakfast on the ship was awful."

Giggling, she rolled off of his lap and onto the bed.

"Go on then," she said. "You'll need to keep your strength up."

The look he gave her was grateful and a little chagrined; it was endearing. He stood, padding quietly towards the door. From her position on the bed she watched his smooth movements; he had not replaced the braces on to his shoulders, and the trousers hung low. Jack opened the door, darting a quick look down the hall before stepping out to retrieve the tray of sandwiches. As he bent she had a particularly delightful view of his arse. She would have to get him out of the rest of his clothes. 

Eventually.

"Excellent," said Jack as he brought the tray in. "Ham, cheese and pickle. London's off to an auspicious start."

"Mm," she agreed, smiling suggestively. "It definitely shows promise."


	3. 352. Perspicacious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it took nearly three months, but the sequel to the braces is here and not nearly smutty enough. But enough for me to be satisfied.

 

> #### perspicacious
> 
> /ˌpɜr spɪˈkeɪ ʃəs/  
>  _adjective_
> 
> having keen mental perception and understanding; discerning

* * *

 

Sandwiches eaten, they found a renewed desperation; his hands were everywhere at once, roaming over and under and across, and hers were quickly divesting them both of their remaining clothes. When they were both naked they paused, then laughed.

“I cannot believe you came,” she confessed, feeling almost giddy.

“I cannot believe you asked,” he replied with a grin that came to life in his eyes, moving backwards to lie against the pillows and holding out his hand in invitation.

She took it, kneeling to straddle his lap and leaning down to kiss him thoroughly. When she was satisfied she pulled away, smiling down at him. His hands spanned her hips with the lightest of pressure, steadying her as she took him in and began to move.

Their lovemaking was like a microcosm of their relationship; he happily gave her the lead, but she was never quite as far ahead as she thought and he would occasionally change the rhythm in a way that sent a delighted shock through her. She moaned at a particularly well timed twist of his hips.

"You're awfully perspicacious," she laughed, placing her hands on his biceps for balance.

"Mm," he countered. "You're wonderfully open. For example--" He trailed his hands from her hips up her sides and back down; she shivered in response. "Now I know what that does."

"You should do it again," she breathed, grinding down on him. He bit his lip at the sensation, and she grinned wickedly. "Just to make sure."

\---------

Having talked their way through the act itself, they were quiet for a surprisingly long time afterwards. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in the their mingled scents.   

"Is it always like that with you?"

His voice rumbled through his chest; she had wondered if it would.

“Mmm?” she asked, moving her head so she could see his face. “Like what?”

She was certain he knew her well enough not to be asking if that was the only method in her arsenal, but she was less certain what he meant by the question.

“So…” his lips quirked as he tried to find the words. “Equal, perhaps?”

“Both getting our pleasure?” she asked, surprised.

“No. I’m not that inexperienced,” he laughed. “But with... _before_ , it was different.”

She shifted upwards to kiss the tip of his nose, suddenly understanding. Her dear, noble inspector would never do anything less than ensure his partner’s satisfaction, and his former wife had struck her as somewhat… complacent about a woman’s subservient role in a relationship.

"You're used to making love _to_ a woman, not _with_ ," she concluded.

"Yes, I suppose that's one way to put it."

"Then no, it's not always like that. I like a seduction--which, given the evidence, I expect you will excel at--and a man who does the work just as much," she bit her lip as she leaned in closer, trailing her hand down his chest. "And sometimes I like to be the one who makes love to the man."

Phryne generally liked Jack's ex-wife despite their differences, but there was something in Jack's expression--as if this were a revelation--that made her want to slap the woman at least once.

"In fact," she continued, moving her hand lower and finding him responsive. "I rather feel like making that point right now."


	4. 301. Modicum

If Jack had had even a modicum of common sense, he would not have found himself in a filthy London alleyway that smelt of stale beer and piss, desperately hoping their suspect would dismiss them as a couple of drunks rutting in a doorway.

“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he muttered.

He tried to maneuver so it looked like he had her pinned against the wall without her having to actually _be_ pinned against the wall; he didn’t want to contemplate what it would do to her (very expensive) dress. At least the very expensive stole had been left behind at the club; too bad the same could be said for her purse, containing her pistol, and his coat, containing his.

“Shh!” she scolded, glancing over his shoulder. “My investigation, my rules.”

“I’ll remember that next time you invade one of my crime scenes.”

“Oh, darling,” she said, shucking the skirt just high enough to hook her leg around his hip. “Those are _our_ crime scenes.”

“What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is also yours?”

Even in the dim light he could see her satisfied smirk. She placed her arms around his neck, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. He groaned; he’d never be able to concentrate if she kept doing that.

“I am trying to keep us from being spotted by an infamous cat burglar,” he growled, placing one hand against the wall as a brace and the other spanning her back to keep her from the bricks. “One who has no qualms killing people who threaten that status. We have no means of self defense, seeing as how someone scurried out the door without the tiniest _shred_ of thought to what they would do if we did manage to keep on his trail.”

She rolled her hips, pressing so close he could feel the heat.

“Fuck,” he cursed. “I am trying to concentrate.”

“Put your hand up my skirt,” she breathed into his ear.

“That’s really not going to help, Miss Fisher,” he hissed back, nipping her earlobe.

“Put. Your hand. Up. My skirt,” she repeated. “He’s walked past this alley twice and looked down it both.”

They’d have to sell it. Jack traced his hand down her back and around the leg at his waist, skimming her stocking and coming to rest on the very top of the lace edging.

“Higher,” she urged.

“I am not terribly familiar with England’s laws regarding public indecency, but I’m pretty sure we’ve already broken them,” he replied. “I’d rather not tempt fate an iota further.”

She stilled and looked at him.

“ _Higher_ ,” she said deliberately.

He moved his hand, coming across her garter.

 _Of course_ , he thought, following the line of the belt until his hand came to rest on her stiletto dagger _. Not much use against a pistol if he’s got one, but better than nothing._ He extracted it quickly, then tried to figure out how to pass it to her when both her hands were around his neck. Then wondered, just briefly, why it was that his first instinct was to pass it to her to start with and decided he didn't care to know the answer.

“ _Clever man_ ,” she murmured, leaning forward; ostensibly to kiss his neck, but almost certainly to get a better look at their suspect.

“Still there?” he asked, raising his hand enough that the dagger would be within easy reach if she needed it.

“Uh-uh,” she said. “I think he was simply enjoying the show. Just climbing into a taxicab, but I’ve got the registration.”

Jack disentangled himself from her grasp and stepped back. She quickly straightened her dress, somehow managing to look elegant despite the surroundings.

“Shall we call one of our own and attempt to follow?”

“Neither one of us has money,” he pointed out. “Seeing as how we left everything at the club.”

“Mmm, yes, that would be a hindrance. We can chase it up tomorrow. Back to dance then?” she asked, then eyed him appreciatively. He had a feeling he was a rather rumpled mess of lustful thoughts, and Phryne was exceptionally good at sussing those out. “Or retrieve our things and head home?”

He tugged the jacket of his suit down, and she laughed.

“Home it is,” said Phryne, leading the way out of the alley and on to the busy London street. In the better light, she regarded him with a cocked head and pursed lips.

“What are you thinking about, Miss Fisher?” he asked, suspecting he would regret her answer either way.

“Oh, nothing darling,” she said brightly, hooking her arm through his. “Just wondering how many alleys there are between here and my front door. Or we could always get a taxi...”


End file.
